All it needs is a nice polishing, and at least it’ll look good. HA. I love this instrument, actually. A Strad copy built in 1968 by Roth (so I come down on the German side of the whole German vs. Italian violin thing), my parents bought it for me when I was in the 3rd grade, and I’ve played it somewhat regularly over the decades — with its original pernambuco bow — ever since. I do need a rehair, though, yikes.
I studied privately, nonstop (including summers, grrr) from 1968-1977, when I graduated high school. I hated practicing (then as now), but I have to admit I love playing it — now that I don’t *have* to.
For being a “student model” violin, it has an amazingly warm, full, dark tone, and I wouldn’t trade its color and sound for the world, or for its brighter, more bell-like Italian relatives. It’s like an extension of me after 40-some years, and I hope to play it for many more to come.
Speaking of playing, I suppose I ought to think about warming up the fingers and arms. Many hours to go before I collapse back here late tonight after cleaning the reception hall, post-party. Papa Thriller is looking forward to getting gussied up and giving away the bride; it will be a fun day.
Laissez nous rouler!
- Appointments in Vermilion, Mansfield and points elsewhere — check.
- Practicing done, fingerings marked, order determined — check.
- Dress bought — yikes.
- Extra set of violin strings, just in case — oy.
- Wedding programs folded — nope.
I see I’m not quite done yet. But getting there! I may not have a moment to post this weekend, but I will try over coffee. In case I don’t, however, everyone is assigned to a great weekend — finklove to all.
The frenzy begins (for the Thriller, anyway) today to get ready for Simone’s wedding, which happens 48 hours hence. Family is in from Texas, excitement mounts, hanging details are snipped, and in between teaching and practicing and two unrelated appointments tomorrow, I am preparing my own bad self for the festivities.
Truthfully? It’ll be nice to forget about school for a day. Well I won’t actually forget about it, but I will file it in the back of my reptilian brain for 24 hours. Big bonus: I will get to see all three of my grandchildren for a somewhat extended period of time. Score!
In the meantime, we practice. And practice.
Doesn’t matter what your political predilection, these are some pretty imaginative memes from the debate last night, where Mitt Romney now-famously said:
And – and so we – we took a concerted effort to go out and find women who had backgrounds that could be qualified to become members of our cabinet. I went to a number of women’s groups and said, “Can you help us find folks?”, and they brought us whole binders full of women.
Oh, come on. Lighten up. Admit it: you thought at least some of it was funny. Besides, at this point it’s either laugh or launch puppies at a speeding train. Anyone who takes these debates seriously — or worse, would allow watching them to sway his or her vote — is unaware of the pure theater behind them. And forget the boring debates of, say, Kennedy and Nixon in 1960, where a greater share of dignity and protocol ruled the political airwaves. That ain’t good TV; it doesn’t translate well to the “I can only handle three-second sound bites or I lose interest” crowd.
I am So. Over. This. Campaign. Garbagetalk.
Do you ever chronicle your thoughts at a given time? I woke up at 2:30 this morning, but didn’t get out of bed until 3:15. In that 45-minute span, I had some definitely random NFs:
- Prince Charles will likely be outlived by his mother, and therefore never have the chance to be king.
- The windows in our 2nd floor bedrooms are likely 40 years old.
- How exactly do phones recharge?
- I wonder what’s the best way to transport cake pops.
There were probably more bizarre thoughts, but these are the only ones I remember. And now it’s 4:51 a.m. and of course, I am ready to go back to bed. But no! My alarm (which is still upstairs, dangit) will go off in 9 minutes, and it’ll be time to get ready to shape young voices, one wrong note at a time.
Have a great Monkday — a short week for me this time around, yay!